


copper coloured

by millimallow



Series: the world of owa [14]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: F/F, Homoeroticism, romantic stabbing??, this one is a wild ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 17:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17853956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millimallow/pseuds/millimallow
Summary: part 15 of the world of owa series. set in the vibrant yet structured trevailia.armour will protect you when i can't.





	copper coloured

when the black thread is woven through the umber metal, a copper colour shines through. you can see it even when the coloured component is obscured; regardless of the fact that the metal is not copper in any sense aside from in its appearance. this is armour- the second flesh of a warrior. designed to preserve and persevere through any conflict, through the great violence of the world. mine is evident of a long-standing tradition amongst my people. when enchanted fibres and strands of metal are wound together, the resulting piece can become much more powerful than any of its component. each chestplate is custom-made, the bars wound carefully by a smith trained for likely longer than its recipient’s lifespan entire. it fits perfectly, and it protects the wearer for as long as they live.

i don’t know exactly when i decided to fight. when i was a child i would wake up on dusty pavements outside my school, lying on the ground with the red earth-smoke entering my nose and my lungs, smelling like a clay-firing oven. the taste in my mouth was copper-esque, and it dripped from my nose as it throbbed with pain. clearly a scuffle gone wrong. a little bit too much aggression on my part had drawn the ire of many more students than i intended, who had then beat me into the ground. maybe i told myself that next time i wouldn’t act like such a braggart, but i could never commit myself to that. given enough chances, even an eight year old girl can become an adrenaline chaser. when i got home, my face would be clean of the earth and i would ignore the throbbing pain in my nose and my jaw. me and my parents would eat together. cherry bread and paprika stew around the fine embellished table my grandmother passed down to us, me keeping my secrets from the family who loved me more than the world itself.

of course, it couldn’t last. to this day, the prevailing perspective in trevailia is that children are best left alone, to be whipped into shape on a later date. my regal background entitled me to attendance at one of the most prestigious schools in my province entirely, two regions away, as soon as i graduated from my initial schooling. paid for by an ancestral subsidy that some many-times-removed great uncle had granted the school back a few hundred years ago. i was hardly thrilled. my perspective, in contrast to that of trevailia and my parents, was that i had always attended a school that catered to, without any significant monitoring, children of all backgrounds. elves of my stature tended to cry foul when involved in any rough-housing, as i was to find out at various family reunions and holiday dinners. my complaints were considered- i was, after all, going to be the only half-orc attending the school- but ultimately dismissed. it was a decision that looked to make my life a lot harder. but i would never not be drawn to the blood.

that school was the first time i met someone of any ambition. ideas that went beyond play-yard scuffling and body parts that bruised for days after they collided with the amber earth. she was another elf, the daughter of a middle-class family who had made considerable sacrifices to send her there. she was taller than me, one year my senior, and i subconsciously imitated her in the way she grew her hair long and styled it taut. in her inheritance was a dagger, and though it was mostly for decorative purposes it impressed me from the moment i saw it. most of the blades i knew of remained tucked securely behind glass cases for observance and not use. she showed me it for the first time inside a cramped and disused storage closet, following with a display on how to stab someone in the most effective way she knew. now, i know that we were children playing soldiers, but at the time it was giddily real for me. her dislike of her parents was prononced (despite our differences, i was fond of mine still) and many of our conversations became something like this-

“i’m going to leave my family to become a rogue when i get old enough. you should come with me.”

“i don’t have any weapons. not like you.”

“we’ll buy one when we get to the capital. you just have to keep your head down for a while, change your name, and nobody will ever come looking.”

she was never able to convince me, but we remained close friends, until our relationship became something more. the demonstrations she organized for me inside her room- roommates were beneath students at this institution, so we were never disturbed- became increasingly intimate. skipping lessons together was routine. as quietly as possible, i would try to tackle her and pin her to the bed, all while she deterred me with the knife in her hand. when- not if- blood was drawn, she would tie a rag to my chest while my shirt was removed and lying somewhere else in the room. by the point i was confident enough to let her hold the knife during our sparring, we had both long hit puberty. entering each other’s rooms became more taboo, so we went further to hide it.

and then there was the day we covered the blade with a silken sheet. to try and stop the scrape of metal from giving our positions away, we had tied a sheet around the blade of the weapon. it was a bad idea to suggest that she should, finally, stab me properly. my brain was on its woozy adrenaline high; wanting to know what it would feel like and foolishly deciding that the impact would be softer if the blade was cushioned. after a little deliberation, her now the one not entirely convinced, she agreed to approach me from the side and tackle my flank.

well, it doesn’t take an intellectual to guess that i was hospitalized. the initial pain was bearable, but grew more intense by the second as the sheet proved insufficient to stop the bleeding. we had at least sanitized the blade, i suppose. with the no weapons policy (sensibly) enforced, i was prepared to cry self-defence on her behalf. of course, it was my idea.

why she took the blame herself, i’ll never know. we haven’t seen each other in years. her actions merited an instant ejecture from the school, even when i refused to press charges against her. the guilt of it all consumed me for months, especially when i was gifted a set of traditional armour for my birthday. to protect you, the tag said.

well, if there was one person i needed to be protected from, it was me. but i kept the promise that i had made long before. to buy my own weapon in the capital, after i left school, and to travel as a mercenary.

perhaps we will meet again. so i can show her.


End file.
